


Static

by aliencereal



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Begging, Clothed Sex, Elemental Magic, Established Relationship, Grinding, M/M, Playful Sex, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 11:56:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3119294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliencereal/pseuds/aliencereal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I assume you don't intend for us to spend the evening dry humping like teenagers, at least?" Dorian asks.</p><p>Maxwell laughs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Static

**Author's Note:**

> In regards to Maxwell's scarring: Real life lightning scars usually fade within a few days, but I imagine magical lightning could give you more permanent marks.
> 
> Here's what they look like IRL: [this is a pic of a shirtless guy just to warn you](http://www.sickchirpse.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/nature-tattoo.jpg)
> 
> Coincidentally, I do not recommend googling this if you have a weak stomach or are triggered by gore/blood. There are some pretty gruesome pictures of electrical burns.
> 
> AND THIS IS ALL MASSIVELY IRRELEVANT TO THIS FLUFFY MAGE SEX FIC ENJOY

Maxwell is a lovely contradiction. He's fiercely handsome, with a solid jaw, broad shoulders and just a hint of mystery granted by the feathery lightning scar spread out over his left cheek. He has the sort of smile that melts your knees, or at least it certainly has that effect on Dorian. His magic is dramatic, just this side of flashy, almost a fireworks show when he gets into it. He has a _presence_ , and an ass you could write poetry about.

But if you actually _talk_ to him, you find yourself with a mage whose social skills are lukewarm at best. He laughs too easily, loses his train of thought when Dorian smiles at him, knows a great deal more about exalted age politics than current ones, and spends a lot of time fretting over the small details.

And sex with Maxwell is just that-- sex with _Max_ , not the domineering, powerful Inquisitor everyone expects him to be.

They both know where this is going, what with Dorian on his back and all the enthusiastic, open-mouthed kissing. In spite of that, when Maxwell shifts his weight and his thigh brushes against the hard line of Dorian's cock, he breaks the kiss to just _smile_ , like he can't believe his luck. It makes Dorian's chest flutter like he's got a bird trapped under his ribs.

“Impressed?" Dorian asks, managing to sound amused even as he fights the urge to roll his hips. The raw, unashamed joy Maxwell always takes in this makes Dorian ache with arousal- his lover is so good at making him feel desirable and worthy without trying, it's truly astounding.

Maxwell laughs like he always does when Dorian makes jokes during sex; breathless and helpless and raspy. Dorian _does_ rub up against the thigh between his legs in response. Too hot.

"Maker, yes, always, Dorian, always," Maxwell tells him, voice like a warm drink in your hands on a cold night. Dorian leans up to kiss his neck. Max groans quietly and grinds himself into Dorian's hip.

"So, Amatus," Dorian breathes against Maxwell's ear, "How do you want me?"

Maxwell shudders and his hips twitch, less intentional than they had a moment ago. Dorian smirks, proud of himself for having the desired effect.

"Well, I know how I _want_ you... But we're taking the horses when we head out tomorrow," Maxwell says, a little concerned frown on his face. Dorian groans-- he hates that face. Maxwell is completely unwilling to do anything that'll make Dorian more uncomfortable than he already is on the road. It's both touching ( _he really does love me, doesn't he, my comfort before his pleasure, what a concept_ ) and irritating, because Dorian greatly enjoys the moments when Maxwell stops teasing and really _fucks him_.

"I keep telling you not to worry about that," Dorian complains. Maxwell frowns a bit harder.

"You tell me not to worry, but then you're miserable and grumpy the next day. Of course I worry."

Dorian tries not to find Maxwell's attitude charming.

"I assume you don't intend for us to spend the evening dry humping like teenagers, at least?" Dorian asks wryly, and Maxwell laughs. He grabs Dorian's ankle and pulls it up, so that it's easy for Dorian to hook his leg around his lover's back. It lines up their groins excellently, and Maxwell rubs up against him. It feels good enough for Dorian to give a pleased sigh, but he raises an eyebrow nonetheless.

"You can't be serious."

" _You_ didn't go through puberty in a circle tower. Dry humping in corners is an art," Maxwell tells him, eyes bright with mischief.

The next thrust against Dorian's tragically still clothed, aching cock is rougher, and Maxwell reaches a hand down to grab Dorian's ass. Dorian assumes it's a bit of innocuous groping, right up until the magic kicks in. Dorian has seen Maxwell shoot electricity with incredible precision, but it's nothing on his skill with the Maker-forsaken lightning trick. His prostate, his balls, the base of his dick, all of it gets caught up in a flash of pleasure that bows his back and makes him shout. When he opens his eyes (when did he close them?), he finds Maxwell grinning playfully down at him.

"You can do that through cloth?" Dorian asks in a disbelieving whine. Maxwell winks at him.

"I could do it at ten paces, love," Maxwell boasts, and had he been anyone else, Dorian would have scoffed at him. Maxwell makes the claim believable.

Dorian's cock twitches at the idea of the control needed for that kind of move. The lightning trick itself is only advisable for talented mages to begin with-- too much risk of putting excessive power into the spell and doing serious damage. It's one of Tevinter's most embarrassing types of healer visits.

Maxwell shows off his mastery of it with the same easy confidence as his deadly, roaring plumes of magefire. In moments like this, Dorian sees that The Inquisitor _is_ Maxwell, that the inspiring force of nature and the history buff with severe arachnophobia are the same man.

Dorian pulls him down into a fierce kiss, lightheaded with arousal and affection. The next flash of magic goes straight into his cock, lingering with sizzling pleasure. Dorian swears loudly in his mother tongue, grinding frantically against Maxwell. The tactile and magical sensations clash as Maxwell pulses the spell first too fast for Dorian to keep up, then too slow for him to stand following, desperate already. He can't breathe, can't think, can only _want_.

He only realizes he's babbling in Tevene when Maxwell leans down and whispers in his ear.

“I can still tell that you're begging,” He teases, and that shouldn't be what shoves Dorian aggressively past the point of no return, but it _is_. He grabs Maxwell by the hips and presses the weight of him hard against his dick, needing the friction as the orgasm crashes over him in waves. He can't keep quiet, groaning from deep in his chest. He isn't loud enough to keep himself from hearing the way Maxwell curses almost reverently into his neck, or feeling him grind sloppily against Dorian's pulsing cock. It doesn't occur to him that Max might have come right along with him until he's back in his head enough to consider the idea.

It's absurd, how fucked out he feels once the aftershocks fade away. He just came in his underthings like a damned teenager, he should not feel like he just had a round of amazing full-blown sex. Maxwell is laid out like a starfish next to him, panting heavily with his eyes closed and a lazy, self-satisfied smile plastered on his face.

“It is _completely_ unfair that you made that good enough to justify the damage to my poor, innocent silks,” Dorian complains, and Maxwell breathes out a laugh.

“C'mere, you. I want to cuddle you before I start to feel more sticky than adoring.”

“Such a charmer.”

“You love me,” Maxwell teases.

And, Maker help him, Dorian does.


End file.
